


The Chase

by Llama1412



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Competitive makeouts, Conspiracy, Courting Rituals, Enemies to Lovers, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Secret Relationship, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:08:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26726425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: Iorveth likes making Roche chase him when the Blue Stripes and the Scoia'tael clash. When Roche manages to catch him one day, something entirely unexpected happens. And then it keeps happening.
Relationships: Iorveth/Vernon Roche
Comments: 25
Kudos: 73





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to practice writing kissing, so...have some competitive makeouts.

Iorveth wasn’t sure how this had started. This being The Chase with Roche. Iorveth wasn’t courting Roche, no matter what insinuations Imadia made about old elves being old fashioned. He just – he liked the The Chase. It was _fun._

The Chase itself had started pretty simply. Iorveth and Roche often ended up crossing blades while their people fought around them, and during one face off, Roche had run towards him, sword at the ready, and Iorveth had had the sudden urge to run.

So he had. He wasn’t a coward, he wasn’t running from the fight. But he _was_ running so that Roche would chase him. And Roche did, always seeking him out at the beginning of a skirmish and darting after him when Iorveth jumped into the trees.

It was possible The Chase had certain characteristics in common with an old and nearly forgotten Aen Seidhe courting practice, but obviously that wasn't what Iorveth was doing. He wasn’t enticing Roche to pursue him, he was just... well, Roche was trying to kill him, not kiss him, so any similarities to courtship practices that Iorveth had certainly never spent time thinking about were purely coincidental.

Then came the day Roche caught him. Usually, Iorveth would decide he’d had enough running and, when the terrain favored him, he would turn and face Roche’s attack. But this time, Roche had surprised him. This time, Roche had caught him, fair and square.

Iorveth had been hopping from tree to tree, sticking above the forest floor where he could hear Roche following after him. But with the path Iorveth was taking, he would have to jump down to the ground before long – there was a large enough gap in the branches that it was impossible to continue without jumping down and scaling a separate tree.

That was where Roche caught him. Because Roche _was_ clever and he was a good opponent and Iorveth had underestimated him.

As soon as Iorveth’s boots touched the ground, Roche had whirled around from his hiding place behind the tree Iorveth needed to climb and grabbed him. Iorveth had _not_ yelped, but he had been caught off guard enough to end up losing the fight and Roche successfully grappled him into place and pinned him against the tree.

Iorveth’s hands were trapped at his sides, Roche’s fingers like hot brands around his wrists. The human was pressed uncomfortably close to him, to the point that Iorveth was fairly certain he was supporting more of Roche’s weight than the ground was. It was certainly an effective way to keep Iorveth from moving – even with superior elven strength, he needed leverage to be able to push Roche away, and with his hands and shoulders pinned against the tree, he had none.

Roche’s smirk was even more infuriating up close and Iorveth snarled. It only made Roche chortle as he gloated. 

“The great Scoia’tael commander, finally caught. How does it feel, to know the one special forces commander you _couldn’t_ beat finally got you?” Roche’s voice was breathy with adrenaline and there was a light in his eye that made something that must have been frustration rise in Iorveth’s belly, a simmering tension that felt stretched thin and ready to snap. “Well, Iorveth? Cat got your tongue?” Roche licked his lips, grinning triumphantly right in Iorveth’s face.

Iorveth narrowed his eyes, debating the merits of slamming his own head against Roche’s. While it would definitely hurt Roche, the human seemed to have exceptionally thick skull and Iorveth wasn’t so sure that wouldn’t put _him_ out of commission for the few seconds Roche might need to recover.

“You have me where you want me,” he finally growled, “so do it already.” Iorveth wasn’t actually sure what he was asking for. _Kill me already? Put me out of my misery? Take the trophy of your victory? Take revenge against me?_ It could have been any of them. It was startlingly difficult to think with Roche’s weight making it hard to draw a full breath, and that was obviously the only reason for his confusion.

Roche must have been confused too, because he stared into Iorveth’s eye for a long moment, licking his lips as he thought. “I do have you where I want you,” Roche said, his voice deep and rumbling. 

Something made Iorveth shiver, but it wasn’t fear. Oddly, he didn’t feel afraid of Roche at all in this moment, even though his enemy was likely about to cut his head off. His breath was starting to come faster, each inhale forcing his chest to push against Roche’s in a struggle to expand. His mouth went dry, waiting for Roche to decide – what? How best to kill him?

Frustrated with Roche’s inaction, Iorveth did the one thing he was still able to do. He closed the miniscule amount of space between them and bit Roche. On his lower lip, yes, but it was still an attack. Obviously.

Roche grunted in surprise and then _bit Iorveth back._ Iorveth had no chance to stop the moan that spilled from his mouth, and suddenly they were kissing, truly properly kissing with Roche sucking on his bottom lip and Iorveth licking across Roche’s upper lip. 

Iorveth had no idea what was happening, but his head was spinning and his pulse was rushing and Roche was all he could focus on and even that was overwhelming. The feel of Roche’s body pressing down on him, keeping him from moving; the scent of sweat and musk that was so very _human;_ the sound of Roche’s rough voice making little hums that sent shivers down his spine; the taste of Roche on his tongue, new and different and _Roche_ – Iorveth shouldn’t have liked any of it, but he wanted _more._

There was something different about Roche in comparison to any elf he’d ever had, and Iorveth found himself chasing Roche’s taste, trying to identify that difference, trying to determine what it was about Roche that was so enticing, so intoxicating. Roche chuckled against him, pulling back. Iorveth chased Roche’s mouth with his without thinking, but Roche had him completely pinned against the tree. Iorveth was helpless and it shouldn’t have been so delicious to realize that, but even as he thought of it, he could feel his muscles relaxing and the weight of Roche against him was comforting and warm.

Roche opened his eyes and they looked at each other for a long heated moment before Roche was diving back in, kissing the the corners of Iorveth’s mouth teasingly before sucking Iorveth’s lower lip into his mouth and biting down purposefully.

Iorveth made a noise he wasn’t proud of and his eye fluttered shut as tendrils of heat trailed out from that flash of pain. His next breath was pulled directly from Roche’s lungs and something about the intimacy of that had his knees going weak, but it didn’t matter, because Roche held him exactly where he was wanted and gods, Iorveth had never felt this wildly out of control just from a kiss. Now that he’d had a taste, he felt like he could never have enough.

Shame tried to claw its way up his back, but when Roche squeezed his wrists and sank teeth into his lip at the same time, pleasure washed it away. Iorveth could barely hear the noises he was making over the blood rushing in his ears, but the deep, growling moans Roche made were as easy to perceive as his own being. 

And then suddenly it was stopping, Roche pulling away with a wide eyes, and leaving Iorveth feeling unnaturally cold all down his front in the absence of Roche’s heat. Once Iorveth dragged his gaze from Roche’s swollen lips, he realized that Roche must have heard the same distinctive sounds he now registered of people trampling through the forest in their direction. Given Iorveth’s Scoia’tael would never make so much noise, that meant Roche’s Blue Stripes were on their way. 

Iorveth swallowed, the heat simmering in his belly turning to ice. If this had been a distraction, a way to keep Iorveth occupied until Roche’s backup arrived – 

Only Roche didn’t look triumphant. If anything, he looked scared. He licked his lips slowly, staring at Iorveth all the while. Then he bit his lip and seemed to make a decision, giving Iorveth a onceover that made his ears burn before Roche turned on his heel and ran off in the direction the sounds of the Blue Stripes came from.

Iorveth, leaning back against the tree and still panting for breath, could only stare at where Roche had once stood. Had – had Roche just given up an opportunity to capture him?

Shakily, he brought a hand up to touch his lips. What had he done?


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roche dreams about catching Iorveth, and then has to face reality again.

Roche’s team liked to laugh at the way he slept, face first into the mattress and dead to the world. But there were times it was extremely convenient for keeping people from noticing things best kept secret. Such as the way Roche’s lips mouthed a name against the hard mattress his face was pressed against. His hips moved in little rolls against the bedspread and if he were conscious, he would have been horrified at engaging in such behavior where his men might see it.

But in his sleep, he didn’t care. In his sleep, all of his attention was focused on the figure prancing through the trees as if gravity didn’t affect him. It was common for him to dream of the Chase, of adrenaline pumping through his veins as he pursued the most wily criminal he’d ever seen. His pulse pounded in his ears with the same beat as his boots pounding against the forest floor. 

Iorveth leapt from a tree branch back onto the ground and Roche reached out, cursing himself for being too slow, too far.

And then he wasn’t, his fingers wrapping tight around Iorveth’s wrist and whirling him around, backing him up against a tree. Roche was very aware of the feeling of Iorveth’s body against his, of the cool strength of the wrist in his hand.

“Caught you,” he murmured. 

Iorveth smirked at him, not at all concerned. Instead, his free hand tangled in the poof of hair atop Roche’s head and pulled Roche’s head back. In the dream, Roche didn’t wonder why he let Iorveth do so. Instead, as his physical hips ground against the mattress, his dream self let his legs buckle when Iorveth pushed his head down. Roche landed roughly on his knees, and Iorveth looked down at him with a blazing green eye, the heat in his gaze making Roche swallow.

“Always so noisy,” Iorveth complained. “There are so many better uses for your mouth.”

Now, Roche wasn’t easy. He didn’t go to his knees for just anyone who wandered along. But Iorveth could hardly be considered just anyone, not when Iorveth was the one Scoia’tael commander that eluded his grasp, the only one he’d failed to capture or kill. He took some pride in knowing that he was also the only one amongst the North’s special forces commanders that Iorveth had failed to kill. So when Iorveth tugged on his hair and dragged him closer, Roche didn’t even consider resisting the urge to bury his face in Iorveth’s crotch, inhaling the musky scent of sex that proved Iorveth wasn’t uneffected by the sight of Roche on his knees.

He didn’t actually know what elves had in their pants, but that just meant his mind could fill in whatever details he wanted. Unfortunately, before he could discover what his mind had in store for him this time, a horn sounded off  _ far _ too close to his ear and he was jerking awake with the adrenaline from his chase quickly turning into anticipation of a fight.

Only there was no fight to be had. Roche knelt on his cot and watched his squad slowly claw their way towards consciousness as the bugler continued sounding off their wakeup call. The bastard always chose to sound the call  _ right _ outside the Blue Stripes’ barrack and it took all the self-control Roche had striven for over the years to keep from going out and murdering him. It wouldn’t even take much – Roche bet he could catch the bastard by surprise and cut his annoying damn head off before the bugler even realized his end was coming.

“I want to cut that fucker’s tongue out,” Ves growled. She was second in command of the Blue Stripes and a woman with a generally intimidating aura, not to mentioned a highly accomplished knife thrower. 

Roche  _ should _ scold her, but frankly he felt more like joining her. The remnants of his dream were slipping through his fingers, but he was left with the lingering sense of frustration, of being denied something he dearly wanted.

Apparently, that feeling set the mood for the entire day, because Roche constantly found himself biting back snarls as he worked with the base commander to finalize plans for a joint raid on the Scoia’tael that evening. Commander Marvin’s feedback was all perfectly valid and even delivered politely – or as stiffly polite as any of the established military ever managed with Roche. As it figured, something about a peasant plucked from nowhere and flung into the position of King’s Special Forces Commander bothered them. 

Still, Marvin was courteous, and his suggestion would make better use of their resources. Nonetheless, Roche had to found that he hand to keep his hands balled tight behind his back. If he played with his knife like he usually would when preparing for an operation, he would be too likely to stick it in Marvin’s eye. 

So it was a relief when Marvin finally left, satisfied that their raid would be successful.

“We’ll get that bastard Iorveth this time, just wait!”

Roche forced his lips into a smile. Like hell. He’d been hunting Iorveth for four years now. There was no way a Base Commander who had done absolutely  _ no _ research into their enemy would succeed where Roche had continuously failed. 

There was a part of him that screamed that no, Marvin couldn’t have Iorveth. Iorveth was  _ his _ to capture,  _ his _ to kill. 

That was why he was leading the charge. It was his prerogative as Commander responsible for all Nonhuman Affairs, and Roche always took advantage of his prerogative whenever he was forced into joint operations. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust anyone outside of his team, it was just that – no, it was totally because he didn’t trust the military establishment. Even if their operation  _ did _ manage to catch Iorveth, they’d probably try to take all the credit. Bastards.

Roche pointedly didn’t think about how he’d had a rather perfect opportunity to catch Iorveth just days ago. Or how he hadn’t taken it. He honestly wasn’t sure that he hadn’t imagined the whole thing. Roche had – well, he’d noticed the beauty of elves before. It was said to be legendary, after all, and frankly, every elf Roche had ever seen lived up to the hype. And yes, perhaps he’d absently thought that  _ Iorveth _ was pretty underneath all the assholeishness that was the elf’s personality, but looks weren’t everything.

If only Iorveth didn’t appeal to him in a thousand other ways as well. But the damn elf was a wily commander, who led his guerilla warriors through clever battle plans that left Roche scrambling to respond. It was thrilling, to face an opponent who was brilliantly inventive and intelligent – someone who took the knowledge that vinegar and baking soda explode and had the imagination to mine the forest with environmentally-friendly bombs. Every encounter left Roche feeling energized, adrenaline pumping through him as he fought to get one step ahead and cut Iorveth off. Iorveth always had a surprise in store for him, and despite the very real threat to life and limb, Roche had come to look forward to the clashes between the Blue Stripes and the Scoia’tael with bated breath.

Of course, none of that would be a problem is that wasn’t  _ precisely _ what turned Roche on. Someone who was a match for him both physically and mentally, someone who challenged him and forced him to grow – surely it was only natural Roche to develop for that kind of attachment with a person like that. It was just a quirk of his brain and his body, to find someone like that so incredibly arousing. It didn’t mean anything.

It  _ couldn’t.  _ Roche knew it was beyond wrong, to  _ want _ the person he was supposed to kill. It was signing himself up for pain and disappointment and he did actually try to minimize the misery in his life. 

Besides, there was no way Iorveth would ever want  _ him.  _ The elf surely hated him more than anything, the one human too stubborn to die. And Roche was  _ proud  _ of that, proud of being having that distinction. It meant – well, it meant that Iorveth focused on  _ him.  _ Whenever the Blue Stripes and the Scoia’tael clashed, Iorveth was there to face Roche personally, and no other commander could claim that.

That was why Roche had the honor of leading the charge, though some might call it suicidal eagerness. But he was more than ready to take anything Iorveth threw at him.

Because he was first, creeping forward with his team in a pincer formation behind him, he saw the way an elf in the distance, clearly recognizable by the red bandana, sighted him down the length of an arrow – and then very deliberately raised the bow higher and shot at someone behind Roche. Fear for his men rose in his throat, but when Roche turned, the body that greeted him was that of Base Commander Marvin, right behind the Blue Stripes even though he was supposed to be coordinating the attack from behind their lines.

“Well shit,” Ves said, looking down at the body. Then she followed the arrow’s trajectory and aimed her own crossbow at Iorveth’s perch in high in a tree. “There!”

Iorveth took off with a mocking salute, jumping from tree to tree like elves were part monkey and Roche took off after him with a shout. The sounds of the Blue Stripes and Commander Marvin’s men meeting the Scoia’tael blade for blade faded into the background as Roche kept one eye on the forest floor and one on the damn elf who bobbed in and out of sight through the foliage. Then Iorveth jumped out of sight and didn’t return. Roche pushed his legs to run harder and he broke through the trees into a small clearing just in time to see Iorveth standing on the far side of the clearing, sword at the ready.

Iorveth grinned and charged him with a forward thrust of his sword that Roche was able to bat aside with a half-turn and aim his own blade at Iorveth’s back. Only Iorveth was fast, and he caught Roche’s swing with his sword, putting enough weight into his counter to push Roche back a step.

Roche snarled and planted his foot, refusing to be moved any further. They stared at each other over crossed blades, and the intensity of Iorveth’s gaze made Roche swallow. And then suddenly, Iorveth pressed forward, not with his blade, but with his body. His face drew closer to Roche’s and the memory of the last time they’d been so close had Roche’s face flushing even before Iorveth pressed their mouths together. 

Time seemed to stop moving as Roche’s wide eyes looked at the way Iorveth’s own eye was scrunched closed with something that would probably be called fear on anyone else.

Licking his lips was an instinctive move, one he didn’t think about at all. But his mouth opened and his tongue slid across not just his own bottom lip, but the chapped span of Iorveth’s top lip. 

Perhaps Roche should have pulled back then, should have kicked his brain into gear and  _ not _ kissed his archenemy. But instead, he traced his tongue over the divot where Iorveth’s scar intersected with his lip. Roche was curious, that was all. Aside from their previous encounter, he’d never kissed someone whose lip was scarred and it was a novel experience. That was the only reason he tilted his head to suck Iorveth’s lip into his mouth. 

He didn’t know when his eyes had fallen closed, but when Iorveth made a small noise against him, they fluttered open to see that the lines on the elf’s face had smoothed out and wow, Iorveth had long eyelashes, and Roche was close enough to see the shadows they cast over Iorveth’s cheek. Iorveth’s skin looked unexpectedly rough, and Roche  _ had _ to confirm that by tracing his fingertips gently over Iorveth’s cheek, even if it meant taking one hand off his sword. Iorveth wasn’t pressing his weight behind his parry anymore, so Roche could hold him off with one hand. And he just – he hadn’t gotten to touch last time, not really. And despite the number of times their fighting devolved into wrestling, Roche had never touched Iorveth’s face before. He’d never touched  _ any  _ elf’s face before.

Iorveth’s skin was cool against his fingertips, bumpy with unseen blemishes when Roche stroked his thumb underneath Iorveth’s eye where his eyelashes had been casting shadows. Iorveth’s breath shuddered across Roche’s lips before they were meeting once more, and this time, Iorveth licked into his mouth. He sucked on Iorveth’s tongue, tracing it with his own. It was slightly different from a human’s tongue, longer and more tapered at the tip, and Roche wondered what else might be different. 

Iorveth moaned into his mouth, and suddenly, the resistance against Roche’s sword was gone and two hands were cupping his face, pulling him closer so Iorveth could fuck his tongue deeper into Roche’s mouth. The surprising lack of opposing force sent Roche’s blade skidding across Iorveth’s armor, but there was no force behind it, and Iorveth’s armor was more than capable of absorbing the blow. Still Roche found himself dropping his sword and tracing his palm over everywhere his blade had touched.

When Iorveth hummed against him, this time he could feel the rumble not only on Iorveth’s tongue, but under his palm on Iorveth’s chest. The obvious response was to slide his fingers up until he could grasp the arm opening of Iorveth’s armor and tug the elf closer, until their bodies were fully pressed together. Iorveth’s hands on his jaw curled around until fingers were sliding through the closely shaved hair on the back of his head and when a light breeze whispered through the trees, he was able to feel it across his forehead because his chaperone was suddenly gone.

Roche huffed, pulling back just long enough to twist his fingers through Iorveth’s bandana and tug it off. The elf made a discontent noise, but when Roche dove back in to suck on his lower lip, Iorveth met him eagerly, wrapping his arms around Roche’s neck until he could drag his hand through the longer hair on top of his head.

Roche couldn’t stop the moan that escaped him, and surprisingly, he didn’t even want to. Who cared what noises he made when he had Iorveth sighing into his mouth? What was there to be bothered about when their swords lay at their feet and Roche’s arm could wrap around Iorveth’s surprisingly trim waist, pulling Iorveth closer still until there was truly no space between them.

Iorveth leaned back, breath coming fast as it fanned over Roche’s face. Without really thinking about it, Roche tilted his head to press his lips against one corner of Iorveth’s mouth, then the other. Then he began lightly kissing across Iorveth’s face, noticing the way different areas of skin felt. The corner of his eye was rough where crows feet wrinkled the skin and the cut of his cheekbone soft while his chin was pitted, littered with tiny nicks and scratches. Iorveth gasped sharply when Roche brushed his mouth across the scar that cut across Iorveth’s right cheek, sucking the lightest kiss he could to the jagged triangle of unmarred skin between the cheek scar and Iorveth’s eye. He wasn’t sure how much sensation Iorveth still had in that part of his face, but he couldn’t seem to stop his lips from tracing the curve of the scar towards Iorveth’s brow. 

Iorveth let out a sound that he would call a whine if it came from anyone else, and the idea that he’d pulled such a noise from the great Scoia’tael Commander Iorveth himself – it made Roche shudder, sliding his fingers into Iorveth’s short hair and licking into Iorveth’s mouth once more. Iorveth’s hair was sweaty from having been under the bandana and it should have felt disgusting to stroke his fingers through it, but the strands were soft against his hand and Iorveth practically arched into his touch like a cat demanding scritches. Roche obligingly scratched his fingers in little circles through the hair at the base of Iorveth’s skull and the elf melted into him until Roche was holding both of them up. There was something invigorating about that, knowing that  _ he _ of all people could make Iorveth swoon. 

His fingers brushed against Iorveth’s pointed ears and when else would he have the opportunity to actually feel the difference? It was only logical that Roche should tilt his hand until he could trace a thumb up the outside of Iorveth’s ear. 

Iorveth’s breath hitched with a gasp, and then he  _ keened,  _ fingers gripping Roche’s hair tight. The prickling across his scalp had Roche moaning even as he explored further, bringing his forefinger forward to trace from the base of Iorveth’s ear to the tip. The moan Iorveth gave was orgasmic and when Iorveth’s hips instinctively bucked against him, Roche wanted nothing more than to rip their armor off and take Iorveth right there against the forest floor. Or be taken. He wasn’t overly picky – his only requirement at the moment was that Iorveth be involved and fuck, but Iorveth seemed more than delighted with that, clawing down the back of Roche’s head to pull him closer. Roche’s arm around Iorveth waist moved until he could press the flat of his palm against the small of Iorveth’s back and push them closer together as he dragged his hand up Iorveth’s back in a long slide. 

Iorveth gasped, arching back into his hand and going limp. His head dropped onto Roche’s shoulder, breath sending shivers across Roche’s skin as he buried his face in the crook of Roche’s neck. This happened to put Iorveth’s ear in perfect range of Roche’s mouth, so as he felt teeth bite at his neck, he wrapped his lips around the tip of Iorveth’s ear and sucked.

Iorveth shuddered, his jaw clamping into the curve of Roche’s throat in a sharp bite of pain that had Roche’s own hips jerking against Iorveth. 

“Fuck,” Iorveth said, muffled against Roche’s neck. Iorveth licked across the skin in his mouth and sucked hard, almost certainly leaving a mark. 

“Oh,” Roche gasped, fingers skidding desperately through Iorveth’s hair. He wanted that, wanted Iorveth to mark him, wanted to have evidence that this was really happening, that it wasn’t some sort of strange fever dream, that Iorveth actually wanted  _ him.  _ Maybe their previous encounter had haunted Iorveth as much as it haunted him, and Roche wondered if Iorveth wanted evidence too. Just in case, he kissed his way down Iorveth’s ear and nipped at that spot behind it that was usually sensitive for humans.

It was for elves too, it seemed, because Iorveth moaned brokenly, tilting his head to give Roche more access. Roche obliged, sucking hard until he knew a pale purple mark would show, then he bit his way across to corner of Iorveth’s jaw, sucking a mark there too where Iorveth’s bandana should cover it. 

“Fuck, Vernon,” Iorveth moaned, his breath voice breathy and faint. Roche wanted to hear his name spoken that way again and again for all time. Iorveth’s hand in his hair dragged his head up to kiss him again, fucking into his mouth roughly and with intent.

A sharp whistle startled them both, making their teeth clack together painfully. Roche looked around wildly, cold fear trickling down his spine. The whistle sounded again and Iorveth gulped audibly. 

“Our people are coming,” he said, pointedly stepping away from Roche and bending down to fetch his bandana.

“Sounds like someone’s already here,” Roche said, fear and arousal and frustration mixing uncomfortably in his belly, making him shift on his feet. 

Iorveth opened his mouth to answer, then seemed to remember that they were actually enemies and hesitated.

Roche ground his teeth together. He wanted this to have been real, wanted for Iorveth to have wanted  _ him.  _ But the reminder of who they really were meant that he had to ask. “If I’m about to be blackmailed by one of your spies, I’d prefer to know it now.”

Iorveth frowned at him, “she’s loyal to me. She won’t tell anyone.”

“Unless you tell her to.”

Iorveth finally met his gaze, and some of the tension in Roche’s shoulders seeped out when he saw the banked fire in Iorveth’s eye. Maybe...maybe Iorveth  _ did _ actually want him?

“I would be just as ruined as you,” Iorveth said, picking up his sword and sheathing it. 

Roche did likewise, scooping up his chaperone while he was at it. “Are you already?” He felt a heavy sunken feeling in his gut at the thought, and he distracted himself by arranging the chaperone on his head again. “Will your spy try to pull something on you?”

Iorveth huffed and Roche nearly jumped in surprise when the sound was much closer than expected. Iorveth reached out and shifted the collar of his chaperone, covering the mark the elf had left.

“She’s loyal to me,” the elf repeated. Roche heard Iorveth take a deep breath before cool lips pressed against his own again.

He parted his lips eagerly, his concerns about elven spies drowning under the knowledge that Iorveth knew this could ruin them both and wanted it anyway. Wanted  _ Roche _ anyway.

He cupped Iorveth’s jaw in his hands, sucking Iorveth’s bottom lip into his mouth. Iorveth’s hands landed on his hips and pulled him in.

The whistle this time was shriller and pointed, and Iorveth and Roche leapt apart.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. “I guess I should – um.”

“Yeah,” Iorveth nodded. “Your people are that way,” the elf waved to indicate where and Roche knew it was probably stupid to believe Iorveth, but he did anyway.

He opened his mouth to say something, though he didn’t know what and that shrill whistle sounded again. “Right,” he said to himself, turning on his heel with one final glance at Iorveth. 

As it turned out, his men really were in the direction Iorveth had pointed, and Roche met the Blue Stripes just as the cut down the last Scoia’tael in their path.

“Report,” he ordered Ves.

“The Scoia’tael have fled, sir. Most of Commander Marvin’s men attempted to follow them and we found several of them dead in traps the squirrels left. If they don’t return when the sun reaches the treetops, we may have to conclude that the Scoia’tael got them.

Roche snarled in frustration. “They were supposed to hang back, follow your lead!”

“After Marvin fell, most of them abandoned the plan and charged wildly.” Ves sighed, a pinched look on her face. She wasn’t a fan of most of the units they shared the Ellander Army Base with, but Roche knew she wouldn’t have wished for them to die under the Scoia’tael’s blades.

Something bitter crawled up his throat. While Marvin’s men had been dying, Roche had been making out like a horny teenager with the commander of the very Scoia’tael doing the slaying. Yet even as guilt sank its claws into his skin, Roche found that he couldn’t regret what he’d done, couldn’t regret that he’d gotten a real taste of Iorveth.

Why was it that the thing that could utterly destroy him – shatter his reputation and infuriate his King – was so damned alluring? He already wanted more, even though it was impossible. Even though he should know better. Even though Iorveth’s men’s hands were stained with blood.


End file.
